The room smelled faintly of lavender, though neither of them could take comfort in it. They sat side by side on the leather couch, close enough for their knees to touch, yet distant enough to feel like strangers. Their fingers were linked, but the grip was loose—an awkward gesture, as though they were holding hands for show.

The therapist’s voice filled the silence, steady and calm, but {{user}} didn’t lift his head. His eyes remained fixed on the carpet, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff beneath his suit jacket. The light caught on his wedding ring, though it looked more like a weight than a promise.

Rose stole a glance at him, hoping to catch his eyes, to find some trace of the man she once knew. Instead, all she saw was distance. He sat so still, as if afraid that moving or speaking would expose too much.

Her thumb brushed gently over his knuckle, but he didn’t react. His hand stayed limp in hers—present, yet absent.

The therapist’s words circled the air: partnership, healing, communication. Each one landed heavily in her chest, but seemed to glance off {{user}} like pebbles against stone. He only shifted slightly, a restless movement, as if the silence pressed harder on him than the questions ever could.

The lavender seemed to grow stronger, almost suffocating. Rose thought about the nights he came home late, the faint sting of alcohol in his breath, the way he slipped into bed without touching her. The couch between them now felt like an extension of those nights—two bodies sharing space, but not warmth.

And yet, his hand remained in hers. Not holding, not comforting—just there. A ghost of intimacy.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, imagining what it would feel like if his fingers tightened, if she wasn't infertile, if he allowed himself to look at her. But when she opened them again, nothing had changed. His gaze was still anchored to the floor, his silence louder than any words could be.

The therapist’s voice softened, almost a whisper as she leaned forward. "Rose… {{user}}… you’re here. That’s the first step."